


Desert Butterfly

by azurrys



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 04:51:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20002618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurrys/pseuds/azurrys
Summary: Perhaps Aqil’s doubts will never fade, but Faris has never let anyone tie down his wings.





	Desert Butterfly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alley_Skywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/gifts).



The proposal comes out of nowhere, in just the way Prince Faris is best known for.

It’s on a day of blinding sunlight, while Aqil carefully brushes out his prince’s long, wavy hair, knotted into tangles overnight. Brushing his hair isn’t one of Aqil’s official duties; nowadays, those orders come from the Royal Court, and Faris has never had much love for the scene. But brushing Faris’s is a time-worn habit of his, a part of their routine that neither of them want to give up.

There’s little else that Aqil loves more than quiet mornings with his prince, anyway.

Faris is still and quiet, staring into his mirror with uncharacteristic focus. “Something on your mind, Highness?” Aqil asks, smoothing down his prince’s hair. He’s almost done.

“I suppose you could say that,” Faris murmurs in reply. Aqil looks at his prince in the mirror, and bright jewel-green eyes stare back at him for a long moment before Faris drops his gaze. There’s a faint shuffling noise as he opens the jewellery box on his dressing table, metal clinking. Aqil leaves him to it, assuming he’s picking his earrings for the day, until Faris abruptly stands and turns—then kneels down in front of Aqil.

Aqil’s reeling from the shock of his prince _kneeling down to him_ , already stunned into silence, when Faris’s next words almost make his heart stop.

“Aqil, marry me.”

Aqil looks down into fierce green eyes, then further down to a gleaming circle of bright gold, as Faris takes his hand and looks expectantly up at him.

The comb clatters to the ground, forgotten.

Aqil has been by Faris’s side since he could remember. Aqil’s father was a royal scribe; a lowly position, but one where his son could wander through the palace halls without suspicion, staring in wonder at the desert sun shining in through elegant trellises to dance on the marbled floors. And it was then, on a day of blinding sunlight, that he met the prince for the first time.

He learned, later, that Faris hadn’t been supposed to be alone that day. He hadn’t even been supposed to leave his bedroom. But as he soon grew to realise himself, Faris had never quite liked listening to rules or orders, least of all those that tied down his wings.

“Are you alone? What’s your name?”

Those had been Faris’s first words to him, but before Aqil had even answered, Faris had reached out a hand to him. He took it without even thinking, and when he answered with his name, Faris’s smile had shone brighter than the sun.

“I can’t marry you.”

Faris freezes in place, and Aqil feels a sharp pang of guilt strike him. It’s clear that it wasn’t the answer his prince was expecting—really, not the kind of answer anyone expects or wants from a proposal. Lowering his voice, he continues gently, “Highness, I love you. With all my heart. There’s nothing I would like more in the world than to marry you, but…”

“Then? Why not?” Faris looks up at him beseechingly. “If you want to marry me, then—then let’s get married, Aqil. I knew you would never ask _me_ , you’d never dare to, so I was sure it was something I should do.”

“Highness…” Aqil struggles to find the correct words, heart aching at his prince’s obvious disappointment. “It isn’t so simple. There’s the court, the matter of your future heirs—”

“Aqil, don’t be my advisor. Not right now. I’ll listen to you on everything else, but not on this.” Faris squeezes Aqil’s hand, loose hair falling over his shoulder as he leans forward to kiss it, and Aqil’s heart twists sharply.

How is it that now, so many years later, his prince is kneeling in front of him and kissing his hand?

The day he had been sworn in as a royal advisor, Aqil knelt before the court. He took his vows to serve king and country with all his heart, to be loyal to his homeland forevermore.

Faris had been in attendance, eyes gleaming with bright excitement; a youth on the cusp of adulthood, awaiting the attendance of an advisor of his very own. The court had granted Aqil the special honour, at eighteen, to be the youngest advisor in service to the crown. For once, the court had decided to ‘overlook’ his modest origins—all for the sake of their sixteen-year-old prince.

Later that night, he’d knelt before Faris alone, despite his prince’s gentle admonishments. Taking his prince’s hand, he pressed the barest kiss to the back, and when he lifted his eyes it was to Faris’s warm smile.

“I don’t want you to kneel before me, Aqil. You may be my advisor now, but aren’t you still my friend as well?” Faris leaned forward, drawing Aqil up until he stood at his full height.

“I’m whoever you wish me to be, Highness.” Faris was still seated, and as Aqil tilted his head downwards respectfully, their eyes met for the briefest second.

“Then,” Faris said lightly, “will you be mine?”

Aqil’s heart skipped, breath stopped, as he raised his head to meet his prince’s gaze head-on. In his mind, the court’s words repeated themselves. _By Prince Faris’s grace, we will allow… just this once… an exception, not the norm…_

But as Faris stood, winding his arm around Aqil’s waist with hope bright in his eyes, he found himself leaning in at the same time as his prince, until he felt the soft sigh of Faris’s breath on his lips.

Faris had never liked listening to rules or orders, least of all those that tied down his wings. And Aqil was, as ever, helpless to resist him in his flight.

“I know that we’re breaking rules.” Faris says it so freely; his voice is unburdened by fear, gaze sincere and earnest. “But I’m not afraid to break them. Not for you. I convinced the court to induct you as my advisor, didn’t I?”

“That’s different, Highness. And the decision was heavily opposed, even back then.” Aqil ducks his head again, not daring to meet Faris’s gaze. “A marriage is out of the question.”

Princes do not marry men. Men may be acceptable as concubines or lovers, but future kings need heirs and wives. Some rules are not ironclad; in Aqil’s experience, some (many) are bent to Faris’s will. But this one…

This one, Aqil has no hope for.

Faris sighs, the sound almost lost despite the silence hanging heavy between them. Aqil is starting to fear the worst—that, perhaps, his rejection will mean the end of the ten years they have shared as lovers—but before the thoughts can fully take root, Faris speaks again. “Look at me, Aqil.” Faris gently grasps his chin, beckoning him to raise his head until their eyes meet.

Aqil remembers, back when they were children, that Faris had to raise his head to meet Aqil’s eyes. He isn’t sure when it became such that he was now the one who had to look up; when it was that his prince had grown up, shedding so much of the childishness that Aqil loved, yet somehow…

Somehow, looking at him now, Aqil can still see the person he first fell in love with.

“I’m marrying for love, Aqil.” Faris’s voice is soft and sweet as usual, and despite the way Aqil’s practical mind balks at the statement, he swears he feels a little corner of his heart melt away at Faris’s surety. “Let them try and stop us. I don’t care if you’re a man, or a commoner. As long as you want to marry me too, then… this is something I’ll fight for. No matter what.”

Faris speaks with absolute conviction. Aqil’s mind is skipping through time, from words he heard ten years ago to the first smile that has not dulled through twenty-one years of memory. But as he looks into Faris’s eyes again, all of those thoughts fade away—replaced with the sweet smile that has never changed, despite all these years.

“Let me ask you again, Aqil.” Faris leans in, pressing their foreheads together. Aqil can feel his breath on his lips. “Will you marry me?”

This time, the answer comes easily to his lips.

“Yes.”

His prince may look fragile in his sweet exuberance, but Aqil knows better. Faris is gentle, but not delicate; beneath his soft beauty, he’s always hidden an iron will.

The ring gleams, catching the sunlight as Faris slides it on in a blinding flash. Faris raises Aqil’s hand to his lips, pressing a reverent kiss to the metal.

The years seem to melt together: his first meeting with a young boy more brilliant than the sun; the hundreds of eyes that watched as he knelt before the youth he was bound to serve; the sunlight framing the man who so gently leans in to take another kiss, tangling their fingers together.

Perhaps Aqil’s doubts will never fade, but Faris has never let anyone tie down his wings.


End file.
